Boredom can be Deadly
by impossiblewritings
Summary: It's funny, out of all the times people have called him a psychopath he's never once agreed with them. He's even felt insulted once or twice. Yet now, Sherlock agrees with them 100 percent.


**Boredom can be Deadly. **

It's funny, out of all the times people have called him a psychopath he's never once agreed with them. He's even felt insulted once or twice. Yet now, Sherlock agrees with them 100 percent.

He had been bored, more bored than he could ever remember. John was visiting Harry, Mrs Hudson wasn't talking to him since he had blown a hole through the floor of the kitchen and the criminals of London seemed to be at ease.

He'd made a rash decision. He'd heard from Mrs Hudson a while back that Jack and Amy, a couple a few streets away had been in rough water, and had been arguing a lot recently. He'd decided their fate there and then. He strode to the kitchen to get some latex gloves, he stuffed them into his pocket and left, leaving his jacket behind.

Two streets away the couple had had yet another argument, this time over the rent. She had stormed off upstairs to bed while he slumped himself onto the sofa. Sherlock had stood outside their door for about 5 minutes running over in his head what he was about to do. He stepped up to the door and knocked.

Jack, thankfully, was the one who answered.

"Jack!" Sherlock gave a friendly smile and shook Jack's hand.

"Uh, hi. Who are you?" He had stepped back slightly from Sherlock.

"A friend of Amy's, she said you two have had a little argument. May I come in," not waiting for an answer Sherlock pushed past him, slipped off his shoes and went in to the living room. There were bills on the coffee table and a calculator. A pink mug with tea in was on a small table on the right side, next to the sofa. Amy was right handed. "She said you'd argued over the bills," He turned to look at Jack, who had entered the room closely behind Sherlock.

"The rent," he paused for a few seconds. "Why did she call?" He was eyeing up Sherlock suspiciously.

" Oh, you know, she wanted me to have a chat with you." He gave yet another sickly sweet smile. Jack's face soften. "Now you sit down and I'll go make us a cuppa," He pushed Jack onto the sofa and made his way to the kitchen. Once he heard Jack turn up the T.V he pulled out his latex gloves and boiled the kettle. He could hear Amy's T.V on upstairs but she was asleep, there's a good chance she'd have come to see who was at the door if she had been awake. Sherlock looked around the kitchen for the knives. There they where, he picked up the carving knife from the rack. It had been sharpened recently, one of them liked to cook. Probably Amy, Jack had dirty hands, with no cuts or burns. He held it up, and smiled to himself as the light reflected off the blade. He picked up one of Amy's hooded jumper, before he made his way back to the living room where Jack was.

Sherlock could, in theory, make it a clean swift kill. He would only have to swipe the blade across his throat. But that's not what he wanted. He stepped behind Jack, took a silent breath in as he and plunged the knife deep into his victims chest. He mind whirled, and his heart raced. He had made it sloppy, letting the blade slip as it entered his chest. Jack had let out a heavy breath and a small whimper before going limp. Slowly he pulled out the knife and wiped the bloody blade on the right corner of the jumper, then dipping the sleeve into some of the blood. He quickly strode back into the kitchen, he place the still slightly bloody knife back into the holder, stuffed Amy's jumper into the washing machine, before taking off his gloves and placing them back into his pocket. He looked at the crime scene he had created and gave a quick smile. He strode back to the front door, slipped his feet softly back into his shoes, covering his hand with a piece of his shirt, he opened the door and left. All of the evidence pointed towards the girlfriend.

He hadn't gone back to Baker Street that night, instead he roamed the streets aimlessly. That was the first person Sherlock had murdered in cold blood, and he wasn't going to let it be his last. The rush that had hit him when the knife plunged into the chest of his victim was breathtakingly amazing. Maybe even next time he would take John on one of his psychopathic adventures.


End file.
